


Rights Reclaimed

by EmeraldSage



Series: The Price of Your Heart [4]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alfred's Happy, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Organized Crime, America Runs Away, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, Gen, Kinda, Little bit of FACE, Mafia AU, Marriage Contracts, Runaway, Ruthless England, Smart America, Sneaky America, very angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 21:32:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9403706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldSage/pseuds/EmeraldSage
Summary: Alfred's not easily cowed, nor is he easily scared, yet his father managed to inspire both in him, though not for long.  What exactly soured their relationship so much?  And why, after years of growing up knowing of his father's cruelty, did Alfred finally run away?This is some of the background for The Weight of a Name.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have no familiarity with the process of claiming citizenship or anything at all related. This is all based off of an experience post I remember reading about a woman who’d been kidnapped to another country, snuck off to the consulate to claim her citizenship, and was protected in US custody, then escorted back to the states. I’ve just…sped things up a bit.
> 
> Also, the woman in the first section of the fic is Natalia, who, in this fic, is Ivan's aunt instead of his sister. Ivan's elder sister is still Katyusha (Ukraine), but his mother is Natalia's unknown sister, who was the head of the clan. Ivan still manages to inherit the heirship position when Katyusha abdicates her eligibility. I don't know why, it just kind of worked out that way. Please don't hate me!
> 
> I also really hope y'all can appreciate the irony in who he's being set up to marry.
> 
> Wrote this while listening to "Stand by You," by Marlisa Punzalan, who was an X-Factor Australia winner a few years back

         “He’s more beautiful than the pictures show,” a voice murmured in the room, almost soft enough that he couldn’t hear it. Either way, he felt his heart sink into his stomach, and the thoughts in his mind twisted. It was another one of _those_ people, of _course_ it was. “He’s remarkably docile as well.” There was a hint of curiosity in the woman’s voice, and he bit his lip, shuffling soundlessly into a more comfortable position without alerting the occupants of the room to their eavesdropper.

         “Yes,” his father’s voice said strongly, smugly, “he’s been well trained. He used to be _quite_ the unseemly child, we’re all so pleased he turned out so well.” He felt his heart clench and his eyes flutter shut at the proof, and if he hadn’t had the self-control necessitated by years worth of indoctrination and conformity imposed upon him, he would’ve retched at the final, damning confirmation.

         _He’s been well **trained**._

         He bit back the hiccupping sob that wanted to emerge – the screams that wanted to wrench from his throat and warp into being, that wanted to proclaim its outrage, its injustice, and its _sorrow_ to the sky – and stilled himself. He felt cold, the warmth of his jacket doing nothing to shield him from the soul deep recognition, acknowledgement, of what he was to his father. The passageway’s wet chill was creeping into his bones, but even that could not compare to the agony racing through his veins. His mind whimpered.

         _No, **please** …_

         “He’s young, still,” the other voice remarked critically, “Only sixteen. Of course, there’s plenty who have been negotiated younger, but I would’ve assumed you would keep to the age of majority.” There was a hint of something sly in the woman’s voice, and it twisted in his stomach, because he _knew_ …

         “Even as well-trained as he is, he is still _my_ child. If I give him the opportunity coming of age allows for him, he will take it without hesitation,” he could hear the scowl in his father’s voice. “He dislikes boundaries, thus the need to constantly reinforce them. A year’s courtship will make him seventeen, and that is acceptable.”

         The other voice hummed, “And the price we negotiated earlier?” _The bride price_ , he knew, and horror washed over him just as it had the first time he’d overheard something of this nature. This would be the cost of his freedom. “Is it still valid?”

         “No,” his father’s voice was firm, “Alfred is my youngest son, but I have only the two of them. Should anything happen to Matthew…you understand very well the position your family would attain. The price will rise. My men are calculating it at the moment.”

         “But everything else is set?” the woman pressed, “He will marry my nephew in a year’s time?”

         His heart was beating a staccato so loud that it was all he could hear, but despite it all, he _knew_ he hadn’t imagined the sound of confirmation coming from his father. The woman laughed, and it echoed emptily around the room. He felt like crying, like sobbing, like _screaming_ at his father pleading – _how could you do this to me? I’m your **son!** – _ but above all else, he just felt _empty_.

         “As long as the details are worked out,” his father added casually, “I will inform him once everything’s been confirmed.”

         “Agreed,” the woman jumped upon the confirmation, clasping her hands together with an audible _clap_ that he could hear through the wall, and all he could feel was numb.

* * *

          _He was running as fast as his little legs could take him, despite the shouts of indignation and protest that were following quickly in his wake. He ignored them all – not hearing their vulgar words or their dire promises if he didn’t halt his speedy escape from his dreadful lessons – because there was something far more important to concentrate his attention on._

_He caught sight of gleaming viridian and threw himself at the new arrival in the entrance hall with a happy shout of, “Daddy!” He wrapped himself around the elder man’s leg, anchoring himself tightly with his grip on the soft, black material. He breathed in the scent of the man – like the sea breeze he could scent from the tower of their estate, with a raw herbal scent overlaying it, and an almost cloying hint of copper and iron that reminded him of the crimson stains he’d once seen the staff try to wash off of the pavement in the garden – and felt a hand come down to rest atop his golden crown. He glanced up and beamed at amused emerald green, and then he was hoisted up into the man’s arms. He laughed happily._

_“And how has my little treasure been?” his father cooed at him warmly, dismissing distraught and disorderly house staff and the governesses he’d been taking lessons from with a wave of his gloved hand. The elder man then tugged off his glove with his teeth, dropping it carelessly on the floor, before reaching out and carding it through his gold-gold wheat locks._

_His father had always loved playing with his hair. It gleamed golden in the sunshine, and the first time he’d met his father, he’d been nicknamed ‘the little Treasure,’ for the precious shade. He and father had played pirates often enough, and when Mattie joined in, Mattie was the knight who was guarding him from the vicious pirate who wanted to steal him away._

_He pushed away the good memories in favor of answering his father’s warm smile and query, taking comfort in how the man’s arms wrapped around him possessively, protectively, and refused to drop his eyes. Everyone talked down to him – even if he knew this was how they treated every five year old they came across – but his Father always looked at him when he spoke. He loved the warmth in those eyes. They kept him safe._

_He ignored how the possessiveness seemed to dominate the warmth. He ignored how the staff acted so stiltedly around him, unused to the kindness their boss had been offering the young child. He ignored the smell of blood on his father that came so regularly, the same smell he’d woken to one morning when he’d ventured into his mother’s bedroom only a year prior and found her dead. He ignored how every time someone called him ‘treasure’ there was a greed in their eyes that made him, so young still, uneasy._

_He was good at ignoring things, then._

* * *

         “Alfred? What are you doing out so late?” he looked away from the sky when he first heard his name, pushing himself up so he could turn to look at the slim form that was making its way towards him. The moonlight grinned in the dark of the night, and he saw the light catch on pale blond, sunset eyes gleaming atop a concerned frown.

         “Just admiring the stars,” he said, watching his brother come closer, studying him as much as he knew the elder was returning the favor. Matt looked like he’d just gotten back from some fancy party or another. He was dressed to the nines, full penguin suit with his hair curl slicked back to mesh with his normal hairstyle. He could see – with an eye trained by practice and experience – the faintest hint of concealer that was probably covering up some embarrassing post-puberty acne that his brother was suffering through. He looked snazzy, but also distinctly ruffled. Alfred frowned, “Is something wrong?” he asked, and he caught the flash of panic in Matthew’s face.

         “No, nothing,” Matt waved it off, “just an overly formal party that went like they always did.”

         He raised a brow, eyeing his brother’s ruffled look contemplatively, “Did you sneak off with a chick or something?” he teased mischievously. Matthew spluttered for a moment, looking totally thrown for a moment that made Alfred want to laugh.

         “God, you have no idea how disgusting that sounds right now,” Matt said, face turning almost _green._ It made him really curious.

         “So there _is_ a girl involved!” Alfred noted, a tad triumphantly, and Matt spluttered again, shaking his head in denial.

         “No!” he exclaimed, hair flopping back in his face with the vehemence of his denial, curl springing free of its gel confines, “Nothing like that! Just…Miss Arlovskaya wanted to talk to me about something, and she’s very… _persistent_.”

         _More like aggressive,_ he thought passively, even though the name struck him powerfully. That was the woman who’d been bargaining with his father that night.

         “Oh, her,” he said, with an almost casual disregard, “she came over a week ago, didn’t she?” He saw the worried look that flashed across Matthew’s face, and knew he wasn’t supposed to know too much about that meeting.

         The meeting where his father had literally _sold_ him to another family. _A bride price for a Kirkland prince_ , he remembered people murmuring when he’d been younger, and hadn’t understood what it had meant. While his brother had been brought up as every family heir had been, taught and instructed in the way of the clan and the underworld, he had been the spare, the illegitimate but nonetheless brilliant little prince. The spare who would be a stepping stone for any family into the limelight of the underworld.

         “Don’t worry too much about it, Al,” his brother said with an _almost_ casual disregard, and had he not overheard his father’s meeting, he would’ve believed the older teen. His heart whined again, mourning his brother’s untrustworthiness from where he’d once hero-worshiped the elder boy. His entire family…had they always known this would be what it came down to? Had his father known – the moment he’d been pulled from his home, his mother, and everything he’d known – that he would auction off the little treasure child he’d collected for a bride price to the highest bidder?

         “Why would I worry?” he laughed at his brother’s oddly relieved look, his laughter echoing hollowly in his mind, where his heart had curled up, trying to weep, but having no tears left with which to try. “You’re the one dealing with aggressive women, Mattie.”

         He laughed at his brother’s pained expression and vehement denial to cover the exhaustion and the agony that hid in his heart.

         He was too empty inside, and he hated it.

* * *

         _He stared curiously at the little blue booklet that his father presented to the man waiting at the desk near the exit to the big room. They’d gotten off the big airplane – that’s what Daddy had called it, at least – and had made their way through the big building his daddy had called an ae-ro-port. He’d seen the little blue book when his mommy was going to take them to Canada to visit her friends. It had his little picture on it, when he was a tiny toddler, not the big boy he was now at the age of four._

_“Daddy,” he said, tugging on the man’s sleeve as they left the big room behind and moved to a noisier, crowded area. His daddy picked him up and cradled him close as they walked, probably to make sure he didn’t loose Alfred in the ae-ro-port._

_Green eyes glanced down, “What is it, poppet?” Alfred glanced to the blue book his father had yet to tuck away._

_“Can I have my picture book?” Green eyes blinked at the innocent response. He glanced to the passport he’d forgotten to stow, and lifted it, watching Alfred’s eyes follow it curiously._

_“Your passport, darling?” he asked, just to make sure, and Alfred nodded enthusiastically. “Not yet, dear,” and Alfred’s face fell, so added quickly was, “perhaps when we get you a new one. So you won’t need this one anymore. Then you can keep it,” arms curled him closer as Alfred beamed shining blue orbs at his father’s verdant green, “Is that alright with you, poppet?”_

* * *

         It had been hard – incredibly hard – creating a distraction that would take care of the staff’s attention for most of the day, just long enough for him to slip away into the city. And if any of the staff couldn’t find him, they would simply assume that he’d slipped out and would be back soon, or that he was somewhere in the gardens, where even they got lost. Once they’d looked, and waited, and couldn’t find him, _then_ they would contact his father. And it would take his father some time to respond to the information, given that his father, brother, and most of their retinue of important people had taken off for France a day early in order to appropriately prepare for the deal that was going down over the weekend. It had been perfect timing. So, with his old, almost ancient US passport in hand, he slipped into the US Embassy, heart pounding. Because this was his only chance to get away.

         A man sat at the entrance desk, idling tiredly. It was almost closing time, after all, and there was no one else there. Then man caught sight of him and almost slumped visibly, though he seemed to refrain himself. His eyes caught on with curiosity, and Alfred knew the man had seen the shake in his hands, the nervousness in blue eyes, along with the weariness that seemed to come across in his demeanor.

         _My last chance_.

         He couldn’t do anything through the _illegal_ method, given that more than half of the underworld was under his father’s thumb and the other half knew he was more valuable in what they could get by selling him _back_ to his father. His only hope was that by going through legal channels, his father wouldn’t be able to see him leaving in time. Who would suspect a crime boss’s son to use legal means to escape his family?

         “Can I help you kid?” the man at the desk asked gently, seeing the lines of nervousness in his shoulders.

         “Y-yes,” he stuttered, bit his lip, and straightened, “I need to claim my citizenship.” His words were firm, and to the man who’d been watching him, it was like watching a transformation take place. Blue eyes hardened, though the nervousness was there still, and his posture had taken on a more confident tone. There was clearly more that the young man needed to do, but Alfred had bitten off his words, well aware that the more people who knew he was here, the faster it would get back to his father.

         He knew he would have to give more information to the person who would go through the process with him, but once his mother’s identity, and then his _father’s_ was brought into the equation, they would contact the agencies back in the States. And once his mother’s old team found out ( _the grey-haired man who would twirl him in the air, the beautiful redhead who’d rock him to sleep when mother wasn’t there, and the crazy teenage hacker who’d taught him to pick locks with clumsy little fingers_ ), as he’d always known in the back of his mind, they’d drag him back to the States, whether he’d wanted to come or not.

         But even with passage and residence secured in the US, there was still the issue of hiding from his father and the man’s searchers. He had no doubt that the moment he was noticed as missing, the man would send out everyone to try and locate him. He was particularly valuable to his father, _especially_ now, with a marriage contract about to be signed off. He knew it hadn’t been done yet, that the main families involved didn’t know about the joint contract, and that was the only reason he could act.

         If anyone else knew, he would’ve never been left unsupervised; his father knew him far too well to have anything less than that.

         So as he waited for his information to be processed – for the entire process to begin – he took comfort in the knowledge his pursuit had yet to begin.

         The moment it did, he wouldn’t have a chance to do so.

* * *

         _“What’s wrong with **me**? How dare you, little brat!” his father was **furious** , and Alfred was half of a mind to backtrack just to get the vicious, almost demonic orbs to look **away** from him. But that wouldn’t work anyways, his father was well and truly enraged, and Alfred was the target of his ire, “The only thing that is wrong with **me** is that I’ve let **you** get away with too much! You’re a spoiled brat!”_

_“Spoiled for wanting to speak my mind?” he said in disbelief, righteous fury swallowing his nerves, “I’m spoiled for wanting to study physics and astronomy instead of the family history? For wanting to hang out with non-clan friends outside of this goddamn overbearing castle? Away from all the constantly watching eyes? For thinking **different** \- !” his last words stuttered to a halt and a loud SLAP echoed in the confines of his father’s study. His gut churned and his heart curled in on itself, whimpering in a way he’d never allow himself to do aloud._

_“Spoiled, indeed,” his father sneered, watching his wayward child coldly as blue eyes, veiled with tears, glanced his way in utter denial and disbelief. “We’ll have to fix that.”_

_And fix it, he would try. And succeed._

_For a while, at least. He should’ve known better to think beating out a fire would extinguish it completely._

* * *

         He watched the airplanes taxi, takeoff, and land from his position inside one of the lounge rooms in the airport. When it’d become clear who he was – whose _son_ he was – he’d been immediately taken into protective custody while the higher ups had to deal with what they were going to do, and how fast they could manage it. He’d been shuffled from US protective custody through airport security and escorted into the lounge, where he’d await his transfer onto the airplane he was taking back home. It had taken a remarkably short time period, only a matter of days in fact, but it had been long enough that he worried his father would be on his way back home to find him missing.

         Still, he thought of the last time he saw the fading Eastern Seaboard when he’d flown over to London for the first time with his father. He still remembered the curving slope of land, sprawling carelessly, casually across miles and miles of ocean. The contrast of green and blue had been so striking to him as a young child, and he’d remembered his father’s green-green eyes to contrast his own sky blue. He’d beamed at the landmass he was leaving behind, excited at the comparison he’d come up with.

         He had never seen it since then. His father had never dared risk it.

         With good reason, so it seemed, given that the US had been under the impression he’d been kidnapped from his home at the age of four and had bee presumed dead for almost a decade. They’d been especially relieved to find him alive and well, and seeking the shelter of his mother country.

         And he was just as relieved to be able to go back, to return to that sprawling sea shore and rolling green hills and pale city streets colorful with the brilliance of life. He would choose his own life, there. He had that choice now, and it was _incredible_.

         His blissful moment of realization was broken when someone shook his shoulder lightly, and he blinked up at the young man who smiled at him.

         “You just need to sign off on your Passport,” he said warmly, “and you’ll be all set. We’ll have you escorted to the next plane to DC.”

         He glanced down at the blue laminated page, with his signature line winking at him blankly atop the crease. His picture gleamed at him, blue eyes filled with hope smiling back at him, and he felt a peace he hadn’t known he needed settle in his body. He lifted the blue inked pen and signed, big and bold, just like the personality he’d suppressed.

         _No more_.

         _Alfred F. Jones_ shone brightly in the soft room lighting, and Alfred F. Jones grinned.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is kind of like an interlude. While I'm writing out the actual Part One and Part Three, this is kind of like a background filler. I hope you guys like it, really! Please tell me what you think!


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